Solace
by neotantrika
Summary: While hiding from Fulcrum agents, Chuck and Sarah reveal their secrets to one another.


_Don't breathe. Don't breathe. Hold it...hold it..._

His lungs close to bursting, fighting the overwhelming need to open his mouth and suck in air, Chuck Bartowski kicked against the pull of the water. If not for the weight of Sarah Walker in his arms, he might not even know which way was up. But her weight, combined with his, pulled him down, down into the cold dark waters of the ocean, so he fought his way in the opposite direction.

_Kick. Don't breathe! _

He kicked, kicked again, eyes turned upward, hoping for a glimpse--_there_. Just a sparkle, a flicker, but it was light. He kicked again, and let go of Sarah with his right arm. His left arm clutched tighter around her torso _a brief suddenly suppressed moment of gratitude that her breasts were so large, because she might otherwise slip through his grasp_ and his right arm swept powerfully downwards, then upwards, reaching.

His head broke water at last. Gasping, Chuck gulped air into his burning lungs. He tilted sideways in the water, forcing Sarah's head above water. Under his arm, her lungs were still. Desperate, Chuck glanced around.

The car had sailed off the end of the pier at more than seventy miles per hour, the brakes destroyed by a lucky shot from the Fulcrum operative chasing them. Chuck had been struggling to put the car into reverse when it left the pier, sailing in a doomed arc, the engine racing into overdrive when the friction of the tires disappeared. It had hit the water with a huge splash that cracked the windshield. The battery lived long enough to power the lights and the windows; he and Sarah had struggled out of their seat belts and swum through the windows as the car continued to sink. But something had gone wrong. Even as Chuck watched the car descend out of sight, its lights sputtering out, he turned and found Sarah drifting, unconscious. Catching her in his arms, he had fought his way to the surface as fast as he could.

Maybe not fast enough.

"Sarah," he said. A wave slopped into his mouth and he choked. "Sarah?" There was no answer. He trod water and put his ear to her mouth. Nothing. "Sarah?"

Chuck put his mouth on hers and blew, but air came out her nostrils. He was doing it wrong. He shifted his grip on her, pinched her nostrils shut, and blew into her mouth again. He saw her chest rise and fall. As he blew into her lungs, she rose in the water. He released her mouth (tasting of salt water) and heard air rushing out again. He blew into her mouth again, and this time there was a tiny hiccup. And a faint gasp. She was breathing again.

He put his fingers on her throat just below her right ear; faintly, he felt a pulse. Thank God.

Another wave surged over him, filling his mouth with salt water. He spat, gasped, then made sure Sarah was still breathing. Then he looked around.

The Fulcrum agents had trapped them in a warehouse where CIA intel had located a server that terrorists were using to try to hack into the international financial network. Casey had held them off with his expert marksmanship while he and Sarah tried to draw them away. But they had not seen the black van until too late, and in avoiding it, Chuck had driven them off the end of the pier into deep water. And damn near killed them both.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to Sarah. He shuddered. The water was cold, sucking the heat out of their bodies. He blinked water out of his eyes and scanned the horizon. He could see the lights of the warehouse district, but swimming back in that direction would be a bad idea. Over the slap and heave of the waves, he could faintly hear a motorboat. Casey looking for them? Or the Fulcrum agents? If the latter, Chuck knew it would be fatal to be caught out here in the open, vulnerable. He leaned back in the water, drew Sarah across his chest, and started backstroking towards the lights, angling off to the right where the lights thinned. He wasn't sure what was next to the warehouse district, but it was probably safer than going back to the scene of the gunfight.

Definitely safer, he thought. His muscles screamed, and when he twisted his head around, it looked as though the shore was as far away as ever. Above him, the cold light of stars gave him no help. He stared at them, set his mouth in a grim line, and kept swimming. Every few minutes he stopped to make sure Sarah was still breathing. Why had she not wakened? It worried him more than anything else, even more than being stuck out here in the cold ocean in the middle of the night possibly being chased by ninja CIA agents who wanted to kill him.

Swim. Shut up and swim. He kicked harder, tucking Sarah against him. Would Casey come after them? Maybe, but only after he'd confirmed that the two of them had not drowned in the car. That might not be until daylight. Casey was a capable man, but Chuck seriously doubted that even Casey carried SCUBA gear and underwater lights with him on every assignment. And of course, that assumed that Casey survived the firefight. Chuck figured that was a reasonable assumption, Casey being Casey.

_Swim. Check her breathing. Kick. _Chuck was also reasonably sure that Casey would be a champion swimmer and would have reached shore by now. Chuck was reasonably sure Casey could navigate through Arctic waters after being shot, while towing at least one raft full of unconscious persons, and probably fight off sharks with his bare hands.

Chuck wished he hadn't thought of sharks.

Over the sound of his own breathing and the splash of his backstroke, Chuck heard another sound--waves on a shoreline. He looked over his shoulder just in time to avoid swimming into a pile. He stopped swimming and drifted up to it. Out of the darkness another appeared, and another. He had reached a pier of some kind. He was still in deep water, though. Quietly, Chuck eased between the piles, trying not to make any splash. He listened for footsteps on the planking overhead. Just as he had convinced himself that the pier was deserted, a light flared on overhead.

Blinded, Chuck squinted, then realized that he was underneath the pier and most of the light was reflecting off the water around him. He let himself and Sarah drift silently into the shadow of the overhead planking. Stealthy footsteps overhead, and a shadow moving across the water, too short to be John Casey. Chuck flattened himself against a pile. To his relief, his feet came to rest on a soft layer of sand. He watched the shadow walk to the end of the pile and turn. As it did, he saw the outline of a short barreled machine gun. He held his breath as the figure came back down the pier towards him, halted, looked around, and walked onwards.

In his arms, Sarah stirred. Chuck clapped a hand over her mouth instantly. "Shhh," he breathed into her ear.

Sarah went still, and Chuck thanked whoever at the CIA had trained her. She raised a hand and tapped at his hand over her mouth. He moved his hand away and put his ear next to her. "My vision is blurred," she said. "Is that..."

"Probably Fulcrum," he answered.

She nodded, then tugged at his other hand around her torso. Reluctantly, Chuck let her go. A bar of light from the overhead light fell across her face, and he could see an ugly bruise on her forehead. "Where are we?" she whispered.

Chuck nodded to his left, in the direction of the warehouse. "We went off a pier about half a mile down the shore."

Overhead, the footsteps moved away. Chuck looked around. They appeared to be at the edge of a marina. Slender white boats bobbed in the water, occasionally knocking against a wharf or one another. He shivered in the cold and wondered if the man on the pier above them was on guard or had gone away.

"Stay here," Sarah said. Before he could answer, she drew in a deep breath and ducked under the water. Chuck nearly panicked, seeing her disappear under the water again, but in three breaths he saw her blonde head emerge from the water at the stern of a large boat, out of the line of sight of anyone on the pier. Her hair was plastered to her head; she looked like a seal. She made an OK sign at him, then ducked out of sight again. Several agonizing minutes later, she emerged from the water next to him. Chuck heard brakes squeal near the head of the pier.

"What are you doing?"

"There are two men," Sarah whispered. "One patrolling the pier, the other at the head of the pier. An SUV just pulled up and two more men got out and locked the gates."

"Do they know we're here?" Chuck whispered, trying to silence his thudding heart.

"I don't think so," Sarah said. "They'd have fired on us by now. This is the first place they'll look for us to come out of the water."

Chuck looked around. "Can we swim to another place?"

"Too dangerous," she said. "If they don't have a boat in the water already, they will soon. Our best bet is to wait until Casey brings backup."

Chuck shivered again. "Well, I hope he hurries, because I'm turning into a prune. A very cold prune."

In the dim light, he saw her smile. "I didn't thank you yet for saving my life," she said. "I think I hit my head when the car hit the water. I would have drowned."

"My pleasure. So what next?"

Sarah glanced around, her brow furrowed. Even wet as a drowned rat, with her hair plastered against her head, Chuck thought she looked stunning. He almost didn't mind being wet, cold and hunted, since he could be with her.

And how sappy a thought was that?

"We might have a better chance in one of those boats," Sarah whispered. "If we can get aboard one, we can hide until Casey comes. Or if Fulcrum comes looking for us, at least we have a getaway vehicle."

"Which one?" Chuck said. It came out "W-w-which o-o-one?" because he was shivering.

"Follow me, quietly," she said. Sarah took a deep breath (and her soaked T-shirt clung like a spray-on tan, Chuck couldn't help but notice), then sank below the surface without a sound. Chuck took a deep breath and did likewise.

The light from the pier did not penetrate very far into the murky water. Chuck could just make out Sarah's feet ahead of him, churning through the water. He forced himself to submerge as deeply as possible (images of agents firing into the water in his mind), and kicked mightily to keep up with her. They swam into the shadow of the yacht and he followed her to the surface.

"This one?" he gasped as quietly as possible.

She shook her head. "This is a sailboat. Let's find an ocean going motorized vessel. Two slips over, I think. Quietly!" She took a deep breath and submerged again.

Again Chuck followed her, this time through dark water with only the white flash of her bare feet to guide him. This time he emerged, lungs aching, to find her bobbing next to a ladder at the stern of a large cabin cruiser. "Try not to rock the boat when you climb up," she said.

He grabbed her arm. "Are you sure it's empty?"

"No running lights, no sounds from inside," she said. "Let me go first. I'll disable anyone aboard. Boost me?"

Chuck blinked at the word _disable_ as he boosted her up the ladder. The boat hardly moved under weight. Light reflecting off a wave slid over the stern, and the word SOLACE gleamed out at him for a second. In a moment Sarah was back, leaning over the stern. "Wait for the next swell in the incoming wave. It will rock all the boats at the same time. That's when you climb up...now!"

At her word, Chuck pulled himself up the ladder hand over hand until his feet found purchase, then he was aboard and lying flat on the miniscule deck. The boat was only 20 or 25 feet long, shuttered. Chuck smelled rust. Sarah was at mid deck, working at the lock of the cabin's main hatch. There was a snapping sound, then a soft creak as the door opened.

"Come on!" She disappeared down a hatchway.

Chuck followed, and was immediately immersed in gloom. He felt his way down the ladder, banged his head on something overhead, then Sarah's hand caught his and guided him down. She leaned past him, secured the door, and then they were together wet and breathing together in the dark. Under his feet, Chuck felt a gentle surge as incoming waves lifted the boat and dropped it, lifted it and dropped it.

"This is a motor yacht," she said. "Looks like a 5.7 liter engine, so if we have to run for it we can, although Fulcrum might have a helicopter on standby. In that case, they'll catch us. I haven't found any weapons aboard."

"What if they search all the boats?"

In the dark, he heard her sigh. "I don't know, Chuck. There are probably 300 boats in this marina, and some of them may be occupied. Those occupants might call the cops if they thought robbers were among the boats. So let's hope the Fulcrum agents are relying on their night scopes to find us in the water. Or maybe they'll think we're dead."

Chuck reached out and found her arm. "You think Casey made it?" He could feel goosebumps on her skin.

He felt her shrug. "Probably. The man is indestructible." Chuck felt a long shiver go through her. Without thinking, he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her.

"You're going to catch pneumonia," he said. "Are there blankets or something on this boat?"

"Maybe," she said, her voice against his chest. He felt her relax against him and felt irrationally proud. "But if we move around much, this boat will rock. We don't want to attract any attention."

"Right," he said. "But at least we can sit down?"

"We can do better than that." She pulled away from him and caught his hand. "Mind your head."

Chuck ducked, and followed her, and felt something brush the top of his head as he stepped through a doorway. He heard the door close. "Can we turn on a light now?"

"Better not," she said. Her voice was close in the darkness. "But we're in the sleeping cabin, so there are blankets. And berths, if you want to lie down."

Chuck wanted nothing more. His every limb seemed to ache, and he was shivering uncontrollably. "Will you be okay?"

"Sure," she said.

Chuck heard wet slithery noises. "Are you ... getting undressed?"

"Yes," she said, her tone very practical. "And you'd better, too. You need to warm up or you'll pass out from hypothermia."

"I'm not really sure that's a good idea," he said. At the same time, part of him was shouting she's getting naked in the same room as you. "I don't want to be caught buck naked by Fulcrum if they find us here."

"John is more likely to find us," she said. An unzipping noise.

_Jesus_. "An equally unpalatable outcome," Chuck said. "I don't want him to find me naked either."

"Then leave your underwear on," she said. "But get this shirt off."

And then her hands were on him, searching. They found his chest, slid up to his shoulders, then met under his chin. She had his shirt halfway unbuttoned before he knew it. "Hey!"

"Shhh!" she said warningly. "I'm serious, Chuck. I can't have you passing out due to exposure."

Exposure was actually the problem, Chuck thought. Mesmerized, cold and unsure of his options, he let her undo his shirt buttons, then push it off his shoulders. Then she was tugging his T-shirt off over his head. When her hand reached for his belt buckle, however, he put a hand over hers. "I can do this," he whispered.

The whisper made the moment more intimate than it would have been. It was so dark in the cabin, with only a thin gleam of light piercing the drawn curtain, that all he could see was a dim white shape moving around in the cabin. Sarah moved, and the light caught a gleam of gold hair. She moved again, and it caught a rosy pink nipple in silhouette.

_Dear God._ Chuck's heart leaped into his throat, and suddenly he felt quite warm. Then a large blanket was thrown around his shoulders and she was standing in front of him. He could feel the heat coming off her body and wondered if she was wearing underwear and how had this night gone from swimming for his life to this moment, almost naked with Sarah Walker?

"There," she said. "Sit down over on this berth--oh. No, wait a minute. Ew." He stood patiently while she made fumbling noises. "Oh. Looks like there's been a deck leak or a spill or something. This berth is soaking wet. Okay, we can both sit on the other one. It's dry."

He felt her hand on his arm, turned to follow her, and bumped into her. She was soft. And she felt naked. And Chuck was suddenly very dizzy. He let her guide him to the berth, turn him, and he sat gingerly on the narrow bed. The mattress sagged to his left as she settled in next to him.

"Better?" she asked.

His throat was dry. "Yes."

She moved in the darkness (funny how even without light he was so aware of every move she made) and tugged at something, and then she was wrapping a blanket around herself, lapping it over him. Under the blanket, she took his left hand between hers and rubbed briskly. "I'm not sure if we should sleep or not," she whispered. "Did you hit your head or anything?"

"I don't ... think so." All he could think about was her hands on his, her body pressed up against him in the dark, the sound of water slapping quietly, rhythmically against the boat, the faint motion of bobbing. He felt as if they had stepped out of the world into some anti-gravity chamber. Certainly he felt light-headed.

He shivered violently, whether from cold or exhaustion or nerves, he couldn't tell.

"I'm beat," she said. "I'm going to lie down." He felt her squirm past him into the bunk, heard her sigh as she lay flat. She pulled on his shoulder.

"Come on, Chuck," she whispered. "I know you're exhausted, too."

He was too tired to argue. He lay down on the narrow bunk, and felt her snuggle close against him, and knew there was only a blanket's thickness between them. As soon as he lay horizontal, his muscles relaxed and he sighed from the bottom of his soul.

In a moment, Sarah's deep breathing told Chuck she was asleep.

Between the gentle rocking of the boat, and his fatigue, and the darkness, he hovered for a while between sleeping and waking. Gradually, he grew warmer andstopped shivering. Half asleep, he squirmed for a more comfortable fit (the bunk was clearly made for shorter people) and flung a casual arm across his companion. Outside, the wind rose, whipping up taller waves, but the breakfront of the marina neutralized them and all the sleeping pair felt was a slightly deeper rhythm.

An incipient cramp in Chuck's right leg woke him, and he shifted in the too-short accommodations. Which is when he discovered that his arm was around Sarah, and her naked breast filled his hand.

He froze, terrified. And transfixed. And suddenly flooded with something more than lust, something deeper and more tender. There was no mistaking that soft weight in his hand, the nipple satiny against his fingers, the warmth of her skin against his palm. He was debating whether to try to extricate his hand, and risk waking her, when she stirred. She turned over, the blanket between them fell away, and then Chuck felt her face against his chest.

"Mmm," she said sleepily.

Chuck drew the blanket over the two of them. It was very dark and very quiet, very private. "Sarah..." he said, his heart aching. Would this moment ever come for them again?

"Mmmm?"

He wanted to ask. He needed to ask. He knew this was turning into more than a fake relationship, no matter what Sarah said. He knew it in his soul, had seen it in her eyes, tasted it on her lips that time Roan Montgomery was "tutoring" him in seduction techniques and challenged him to kiss Sarah. And oh, how the memory of that kiss had kept him warm. And another kiss, one she laid on him when she thought they were about to die...but no. Chuck could not ask. Indecision racked him.

"Chuck?" Her whisper tickled against his chest hairs.

Mortification swept over him. "I'm sorry," he began. "I didn't mean--"

Soft fingers against his mouth silenced him. "Shhh," she whispered.

"Right," he whispered back. "Listen, I--"

"I know what you want, Chuck," she said quietly. And he could tell from her tone, even in the dark, that she was wide awake.

"I didn't mean to ... to grab you like that," he whispered. Her hair had dried, and it brushed his mouth when he talked, tasting of salt water and seaweed. _I have a mermaid in my arms._

"I know," she said. And then she was tugging, and he let her, and she pulled the blanket from between them and she was pressing up against his front.

And he knew, in the dark, with absolute certainty, that she was naked.

"Sarah...I..." So many words, which ones to choose? How to tell her that she was more to him than a warm body in the dark?

"I know what you want," she whispered, and now her hands were drifting down his torso, trailing tendrils of fire against his skin. "And nobody has to know..."

"Nobody has to know," he echoed. And the implications of that, _of her saying that, _held him paralyzed as her hand snaked under the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down. They were almost dry, but still damp enough to leave his skin cool when she stripped him. _Stripped him._ He could not believe she was doing this. "Sarah?"

Her mouth closed on his, and he could not think. Everything was taste and smell and feel and cool sliding skin against him, and his heart thudding in his ears as her luscious mouth lingered on his. His hands came up to cup her jaw, slide under her ear, tangle in her hair as he opened his mouth and let her in. Her tongue slicked against his and suddenly his skin was on fire, he felt himself hardening against her thigh and he was not ashamed, not at all. Not with her. _Yes yes yes_ oh my God.

Her hair fell across his face as she rolled against him. He shifted to keep them from falling out of the narrow berth, and then she was under him. She felt small and delicate and soft. He knew she was tough, could fight better than most men, was athletic and fit. But in this darkness, he felt her skin hot against his, her breasts so soft against his chest, smelled the girl-smell of her, and knew that for this moment she had put aside the trained assassin and let the woman come to the surface.

Conscience nagged at him. "Are you sure--?"

"Touch me," she breathed in his ear. She drew a hand lazily up his torso, flattened it against his chest. Her fingers felt like magic as the slid along his pectorals, and when she lightly pinched a nipple he sucked in air so quickly he caught a strand of her hair in his mouth. "It's just you and me, Chuck. Nobody has to know."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. He kissed his way down her jaw to her shoulder, her chest, and then pressed his face between her breasts, even as his hands were sliding under her, caressing her back, sliding down to cup her buttocks and hold her against him. He knew she could feel his erection, didn't care, was past all embarrassment now.

_Sarah Sarah Sarah_ beat in him, his head full of her scent. Her nipple against his tongue was soft, warm, her body sleek and hot against his. He bit her breast softly and she arched against him. He thrust a knee between hers, opening her. He slid his hands around to her waist, slid them up to cup her breasts. He felt them against his cheek stubble and felt her belly flutter as she laughed silently. Her hands slid down to his butt, exploring. And when she gripped his cheeks, hard, pressing him to her, he nearly growled.

He slipped a hand between them, between her thighs, and found her wet and ready. Oh God. Oh God so close everything I always wanted.

"Sarah..." His whisper was half a groan.

"Yes," she said to his unasked question. She spread her knees. "Yes, Chuck." Her voice was as soft as a cloud. He heard the truth in her voice, all the unsaid things she'd held back, protecting her cover, protecting him. He knew she was dropping all of that here, in the dark with him.

Nobody has to know.

His heart pounding in his throat, Chuck shifted, thrust--and found resistance. _Oops_. He shifted again, not sure of his target in the dark. Something wet pressed against the head of his cock, but Sarah caught her breath and he retreated. "Um. Can't quite find..." he said.

Then her hand was on him _Jesus holy God_ and guiding him and he felt her open for him and he pushed. _Oh dear holy ... yes._ He slid into her, a sweet satin welcome that gripped him, yielded to him, enclosed him and held him tight. "Ahhhhhhh..."

"Shhh..." she cautioned him.

_I want this to last forever._

So he put his mouth on hers, and gathered her softness against him, holding her tight in the gentle rocking of the boat, and he moved only as much as the boat let him. His hands sought the soft mound of her ass, filling his hands with it, feeling her muscles under the sweet female skin. He felt her flex and felt her inner walls grip him tightly, felt her laugh against his mouth at his surprise. It was an exquisite torture to hold back, to feel her wet hold on him, feel himself slip in and out as the boat rocked, feel her nipples rise against first his fingers then his tongue. He shifted, repositioning as he learned her inner geography (blind in the dark, learning her with hands and mouth and cock), until she caught her breath in a kind of squeak and Chuck smiled.

_There_.

And the next time the boat rose on a swell, he thrust deeper, his angle just right...

"Oh!" she said.

He put his mouth on hers to shut her up, wrapped his long arms around her, and thrust again on the descent. Deep and slow.

She moaned into his mouth. Her hips rose against him, urging him on. He gripped the blanket under them with one fist, hanging on to the shreds of his self-control. Every fantasy he'd ever had about Sarah Walker came down to this--making her come. He wanted to hear her moan like this, writhe like this, pant like...that. Yes. In every feverish dream he'd ever indulged himself in, they had all ended like this--buried deep in her, feeling her breath against his skin, her heartbeat under her chest as he thrust again and she moaned. He clapped one hand over her mouth to contain her cries and she bit softly on his thumb as he thrust again and there it was, the flutter and gasp he was hoping for, and suddenly she was convulsing around him, arching under him, her legs coming up to wrap around his waist, trapping him deep inside her, riding her orgasm as they gasped and lunged together.

His release slammed through him, pulsing through both of them, out of control. He poured himself into her softness, drowning in her, gasping her name over and over. Her arms wrapped around him, her legs cinched his waist, her hair was in his mouth and her soft laughter in his ear. He laughed back into her mouth. Softening, he slid out of her.

"Wow!" she whispered after a long moment.

He put his forehead against hers. "Sarah Walker, I am in love with you," he said quietly. He didn't care who heard him now. Nobody has to know.

She was very still. "That's...not a good idea, Chuck."

"I know you don't love me. But I wanted you to know that this is more than just ... you know. Sex. This is ... I love you, Sarah. I don't know your real name, or where you live, or where you grew up or anything." He lifted his head, and the boat moved, and the beam of light sliced through the narrow opening between the curtains just enough to show him her eyes, so beautiful, focused on him. "But I do know that you are strong, and kind, and smart. And I love you more than Han Solo loved the Princess."

"That much?" He heard the smile in her voice.

"That much. So much, that it doesn't even matter if we never do this again, and that you don't love me." In this peaceful moment, all of that was true.

"Are you so sure?" she said. The rocking boat moved the light away from her face.

He went very still. "Sarah?"

In the dark, her mouth found his. Her kiss was slow, sensual, soft. Her tongue danced against his, and even though he was soft he knew if she kept this up he would be ready for round two pretty soon. Her hands slid through his hair, tangling in it, caressing him. When she broke the kiss, her lips stayed against his. "I love you, Chuck. But no one can know, because they'll kill you or me if they find out."

Chuck closed his eyes, his heart filling with joy. "You love me?"

She kissed him again. "No one can know," she said against his mouth. "Promise me."

His hands went down to clasp her waist. In the narrow bunk, he squirmed, and then she was lying on top of him, her knees on either side of his body. "I promise. I'll promise whatever you want. I love you."

In the dark, where it was quiet and private and alone, Chuck drew her down to him again.

THE END


End file.
